


Twist and Shout My Way Out

by Swag_1_Fam_a_Lam



Series: Bruins in Space [2]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Arguments, Boston Bruins, Boston Bruins Ensemble - Freeform, M/M, Science Fiction, We love him anyway, at least it's trying to be, brad's a little bitch, patrice deserves better, pre-relationship brad/patrice, stowing away, the ships are mostly background, there's more plot, which wasn't my intention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 16:31:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18760183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swag_1_Fam_a_Lam/pseuds/Swag_1_Fam_a_Lam
Summary: The holo-chip, as inconspicuous as it looked, was shaping up to be something of a death wish, and if there was one thing Torey wasn't ready to do it was die. Not today.Instead, he was going to it this off on someone who’d probably have the wiles to lead whoever wanted the damned thing on a wild enough goosechase that Torey wouldn’t have to worry about being murdered in his sleep.Hence Marchand.





	Twist and Shout My Way Out

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with another installment of Bruins in Space! I'm not going to lie, this was meant to be a 3,000 word ficlet about Torey fucking with Brad. Obviously, it's not quite that anymore. Instead it's upwards of 7,000 words of some kind of plot and very little actual shippy stuff. Sorry about that.
> 
> The next fic, which I'm currently writing right now, will be actual Bergy/Marchy content I promise. 
> 
> Also, if anyone's curious, the setting for this au is kind of a mashup of star war, star trek, miscellaneous sci fi books and various space!au fanfictions which i have read. I know, super well thought out. Sue me.
> 
> Finally, if you haven't read the first one in the series, you don't necessarily need to, but it is chronologically set before this fic so might clear up a few things. Specifically, why Bergy and Brad are like /that/ 
> 
> Enjoy!

  
  
  


Torey Krug has many regrets. 

Not marrying Mel as soon as he possibly could, having way to many drinks that one time and waking up with an ugly tattoo on his ass, his whole life just generally. 

It’s all these things, plus a large helping of ridiculously bad luck, that leads him to be in a very  uncertain, very delicate situation. It’s what brought him here, in the largest of the Space Station  _ California’s _ many cargo bays, leaning against the rail of one of the suspended walkways. His eyes swept between the crowded room below, filled with people, ships and more. 

It’s loud, he could barely hear himself think over the din, crew members yelling, the echoing booms of cargo being loaded, unloaded, transported in and around the ships. It’s too warm by half, stifling in its intensity. He can feel the sweat trickling down his neck, gathering on his palms and forehead, it’s an unpleasant change from the usual more moderate temperature of his own ship. 

Still, it could be worse, he’s always hated the cold more than the heat. The worst things always happen in the cold. 

He shook his head trying to clear his mind, he had a job to do - Torey was here for one thing and one thing only, and it wasn’t the  _ California’s  _ warm climate. No, it was Marchand. 

Brad Marchand was a very elusive man, Torey had known this from the second they had met. Something in his squirrelly demeanor and those eyes that never lingered on one thing for too long. The way his fingers had hovered over everything with any kind of value on desks, shelves, in boxes or on a man’s body. Slippery, yet Torey trusted him. More or less. 

Even so, when they had parted ways after a job - a successful and highly lucrative private contract - Krug had half expected the next thing he’d hear about the thief was that he had washed up in one of the Intergalactic Prisons. For as good at stealing important objects as Marchy was, his recklessness and poor decision making were not the most desirable qualities in a criminal. So he’d been shocked, but not unpleasantly so, to hear that not only was Brad not behind bars, but had joined forces with the notorious  _ Boston  _ rebel ship. 

Since then Torey had learnt that it was much easier to keep tabs on someone when they were burning through the galaxy on one of the most wanted rogue ships this side of the Metro Asteroid Belt - and probably the other side too. 

There was nothing he loved more than waking up to a message from one of his contacts on the  _ Denver  _ or the  _ Capital  _ with gossip about something or other Brad and his crew had blown up or stolen.. 

And for almost six months, up until two months ago, this routine had been just fine. Krug had managed, somehow, to stay on the right side of Federation even with the whole mercenary side business. He’d go about his work, dodge the Feds and laugh at all the stupid shit Brad had done that week. Life had been  _ great _ .   Sure, with the news of Battlecruisers and even whole Space Stations defecting against the Federation after the Incident, tensions had been a little high. More security had popped up pretty much everywhere, and getting around them to get to his targets unseen had been a little harder. But Torey was fine with a little challenge every once in a while.

What he wasn’t fine with however, was the death sentence that his last job had unexpectedly thrust into his hands. A death sentence in the form of one little credit chip - or at least it had looked like a credit chip.

It was small, about the same size as his thumb, and black in color with no distinguishing marking on it anywhere. He plucked it from the pocket of his latest mark, a Federation Ambassador on some jumped up planet with visions of grandeur. The guy had been a drunk on top of his whole politics business, and ran a failing slave cartel on the side. He hadn’t been sad to see this one go. 

The client hadn’t asked for the Ambassadors death for his extracurriculars though, or even his politics. All he had wanted was an information drive, nothing too complicated, Torey had  been given worse instructions. He’d done it too, battled his way through too tight security for someone who held no real threat to anyone, paranoid bastard, and killed the man before he’d realised anyone else was in his room.

It hadn’t been until after, when the client hadn’t responded to his hails, hadn’t left a message, had eventually been found dead in his own ship, that Torey had gotten suspicious. He knew he needed to get rid of the thing, if someone had wanted to killed the guy after it, surely they’d also have wanted to kill him too. And knowing his luck, throwing it in an ocean on some planet would still lead to his death.

No no, he was going to pawn this off on someone who’d probably have the wiles to lead whoever wanted the chip on a wild enough goosechase that Torey wouldn’t have to worry.

Hence Marchand.

And now Torey had been stuck on this damned floating city, miles away from anywhere he’d feel comfortable relaxing, for almost two weeks and he wasn’t sure he could take it for much longer. 

But still, the underground network had been floating a rumour that Brad had been part of the group that had stolen the coordinates to one of the Federations top secret mineral deposits. A valuable piece of intel for the owner of one of the mining companies, not so much for a group of rebels. Which meant, by proxy, that they’d be trying to get rid of it, and what better place to get rid of a money making gift like that than the Golden State itself. The  _ California _ was crawling with ambitious men, women and Xeno’s who would kill to get their hands on those coordinates, and would take the secret of how they got them to the grave.

It only made logical sense that Brad and his rebel friends would come here. Of course, nothing Brad ever did was logical, but Torey hoped his companions would have more than one brain cell between them. 

All he had had to do was wait.

Of course, it wasn’t like the  _ Boston  _ would be here. Brad might have been bold enough, or moronic enough, to do it, but whoever he was travelling with had more smarts than that. Fingers crossed anyway.

The  _ Boston  _ was one of those ships that was hard to miss. Relatively small for a Battlecruiser, but distinct with it’s flashy black and gold exterior. Torey had seen it on a holovid years ago when it was first commissioned as one of the first Federation Border Patrol Ships, its Bridge crew standing proudly on a nearby platform in the matching black and gold uniforms of the  _ New England  _ sector, grins on their face.  This had made identifying the vessel Brad actually did come by one all the more harder, and that had been the least of his issues. The  _ California  _ was one of the largest Space Stations in the Galaxy, double the size of the  _ Florida  _ or the  _ New England _ , with multiple civilian sectors, four industrial areas and multiple Docking Zones in every level. Even if they had been planning on coming to the  _ California,  _ Torey had no way of knowing exactly where they would be landing. 

And then, for the first time in years, he’d happened across a stroke of, frankly ridiculous luck. 

One of the street rats, abandoned children who permeated every crook and cranny of the lower levels of the Space Station, had told him of a ship that had come to dock in one of the larger bays. 

‘ _ Black, kinda scuffed lookin’ the kid had told him in exchange for a not insignificant number of credits, ‘Got the word Bruin on the side. Crew look real suspicious Mister, dark clothes an’ everythin _ ’’

Now, even at a good distance, Torey could see that the boy had been more than generous in his description of the ship. The black paint was peeled and chipped, the side panelling was more pockmarked with dents than a teenager with acne, and the ‘ru’ of  _ Bruin _ were half missing. It was an old ship too and by his own expert opinion, destined for the scrapheap if it didn’t spontaneously explode when put into hyperdrive. Torey would have bet good money that Brad was on that ship, prior intel or not. 

He always had had terrible taste. 

It didn’t start to look any better as he wound his way through the crowds towards it, darting out from the slipstream of people to mingle amongst the workmen near the cargo of the  _ Bruin.  _

There were two guys by the main entrance to the ship, a blonde who sat on the retracting stairs, and a brunette on the floor by his feet. They were talking quiet, oblivious to Torey loitering in a completely non suspicious way by their cargo bay doors. 

From within the ship, large as it was, he could just make out the muffled sounds of footsteps and clattering. There was no-one in the cargo hold though, and it was half loaded if the spread of crates on the landing zone floor was anything to go by.  He checked the label of one of the boxes, whilst still keeping an eye on the stairs to the entrance of the ship. 

_ Raw Steel, 1 ton, J.Moore Raw Materials Corporated _

A sudden shout caught his attention, causing him to dart behind one of the unloaded crates. It was large enough to conceal his entire frame, and his heart thudded uncomfortably in his chest. One of the workers nearby shot him a weird look. He grinned and gave the guy a thumbs up, slightly perturbed, the man continued loading boxes onto the next ship along. Shuffling to the edge of the box, he poked his head out slightly to see what was going on.

“Bergy! Bergy!” A man came to a half in front of the two men sitting by the ship, red in the face and breathing heavily. Someone out of Torey’s line of vision must come into view from inside the ship, as the shouty man - and the other two, all look up in that direction.

“Kuraly?” The unseen man had an accent Torey couldn’t quite place, not the Federation Standard, but not immediately recognizable as foreign either. 

“Security took a grab at Marchy,” ‘Kuraly’ gasped, “We split up, I ran all the way here from the second deck, they both went after him, he said to be ready to leave as soon as he gets here.”

“Shit.” The unknown man hissed, “Fuck. That idiot, of course he’s recognized.”

“Wasn’t his fault,” They guy sucked in a huge breath before continuing, “They had no way of knowing we’d even be here.”

Which wasn’t quite true.  _ Torey _ had known they’d be here, or at least had a reasonable suspicion they would. The Federation had more contacts over the Galaxy than himself, if anyone could have known, it’d have been them.

“Right. Acciari, Kuraly, fire up the engines and get us ready to get out of here,” The blonde - Acciari - and Kuraly nodded acquiescence, scrambling to get up the stairs and into the ship.

“You want me to get Z and Charlie to load the rest of the cargo?” The brunette asked as he pushed himself off the ground. The other man replied too quietly for Torey to catch, but the brunette followed his crew into the depths of the ship. 

Torey doesn’t start to panic precisely, but his well thought out to plan to stroll up to Marchy, give him the stick, and fuck off back into the depths of the galaxy, were crumbling before his eyes. That and his current very convenient hiding place will become very compromised in a few minutes when the other crew members - Z and Charlie the man had said - came to put the rest of them into the hold.  There were several actions he could have taken at that point. He could have just walked away, blended into the crowd with that little chip, thrown it away, hand it in, whatever, and be done with it. He could have approached the ship, given them the chip and walked off. He could even have just thrown it off into the hold and gone and gotten a nice big drink of something alcoholic. Looking back, he could not understand why none of these very nice, very safe options came to mind, but  _ ‘stow away in the cargo hold’ _ did.

The ramp into the hold made very little noise as he ducked inside, taking in the piles of crates, boxes and sacks around the room. He squeezed behind a pile of large grey boxes, possibly ammo caches, possibly some fancy cloth - it was always hard to tell with rebels. They boxes, mercifully, were in a corner with their backs not quite flush with the wall, leaving just enough space for a slightly smaller than average smuggler to fit behind. 

It was good timing because not a few seconds later two men strolled around to the ramp of the cargo hold. Torey could just about see them, if he shifted upwards a tiny bit, through a crack in the corner of a box. 

It was excruciating, sitting there like some sort of terrified prey as they moved the crates into the hold. How they didn’t notice him he didn’t know, several times they walked just metres in front of his hiding spot, dragging some box or another. But eventually they finished their task, blind to Torey - thank the Gods - the cargo door of the hold slowly closing as they left. With a final, metallic click, he was plunged into semi-darkness, only the red lights dotted around keeping it from being pitch black.

He could feel, of course, when the ship took off, and it was at that moment the sheer stupidity of his plan dawned on him. Either they would find him, squirrelled away in their cargo hold and maybe execute him on the spot, or they wouldn’t, and he’d have to survive down here until the ship landed. How long it would be before the ship landed he didn’t know, and with a dubiously legal ship like this one, the less time spent docked the better.

“You’re a moron Torey Krug,” he said to himself in a tone suspiciously like his Grandmothers’s, the one that hadn’t liked him very much, “ What would your mother think.”

 

 

It felt like years since he’d climbed aboard, but was probably, or so the rational part of his brain told him, only several hours. His hiding place was not particularly uncomfortable, but neither would be chose to relax there with a replicated pizza and a cheesy holo-vid.

Because of course the Gods wouldn’t allow him, Torey Krug, to have any sort of respite. No. Instead they bless him with  _ footsteps _ , footsteps coming towards the hold as if to say: Fuck  _ you  _ Torey, have  _ another  _ problem with no easy solution.

Torey sat, barely breathing in his stillness, as two people enter the cargo bay. From his position he can’t quite make out their faces, but it was clear one of them was one of the blondes from the  _ California,  _ Kuraly he believes, and the other a crew member Torey had yet to see. 

“Why are we here?” New guy asked, sounding perplexed, “Aren’t you meant to be co-piloting?”

“Nah, Noelie doesn’t need a Co-Pilot in this sector, and Gryz is in there with him so it’s fine.”

“Gryz is a  _ terrible  _ pilot, that’s a bad idea all round, why did Z let him-” They’re standing in the middle of the hold, facing each other. New guy’s back was towards Torey, but he could see Kuraly’s face, fond in it’s exasperation, quite clearly through the crack in the crate.

“Chill out Dany, it’s all under control.”

New Guy - Dany - relaxes a smidge, shoulders slumping perhaps a centimeter. The way he held himself was too stiff to be human, yet he obviously wasn’t fully Xeno. Cyborg perhaps, at least a hybrid, rare to find one so young, although maybe not quite so surprising seeing as this was a ship with Brad Marchand on it. If anyone had managed to find a member of crew whose existence had been banned almost 30 years ago, it would be him. 

“Still,” Dany said, “Why are we in here, we’re not landing in a dock for at least three more days, there’s nothing to be done with the cargo till then.”

“I  _ know  _ that.”

“Then why are we-” 

“For privacy Dany,” Kuraly cuts him off, “It’s been weeks since we’ve had some alone time, and I love Noel but I’m convinced his middle name is Cockblock.” 

“Oh.” New Guy sounds somewhat surprised, and a little...breathless? 

“Yeah, ‘oh’” Kuraly said, and there’s silence save for a shuffle of feet and a soft thud of someone getting pressed against a hard surface. 

‘Oh’ indeed.

It took Torey about five seconds to realise what was about to happen here, and as soon as he had he begun to regret every life choice he’d made to get him to that exact point in time. He squeezed his eyes completely shut and prayed to God that something would happen to put a stop to this. Then, in the middle of a very dignified and not at all pleading prayer, there was a rustle of clothes, the slick sound of lips on lips and a breathy moan.

The Gods had forsaken him. Yet again.

There’s a lot of things Torey could take seeing, brutal murders, men fried by phaser shots, loss of limbs due to transporter mishaps. But not this, he did not need to see anyone get it on, of all his sins, voyeurism was not one of them.

He’d been hoping to reveal himself with a little more diplomacy and grace, but desperate times and all. Wincing as he pushes himself up, he clambered from out behind the crate, leaning casually up against it as he spoke.

“So not to be a total cockblock…”

The two men jumped apart like they’d been shocked, both red in the face and breathing hard. To his credit, it only take a few seconds for the one Torey recognised - Kuraly - to pull the phaser from his belt, unbuckled as it was. 

Not wishing to be immediately shot by a guy he just interrupted mid smooch, Torey stuck his hands in the air. 

“The hell are you?” Dany managed to spit out. He’s definitely not human, at least not completely. The positioning of his limbs to rigid, especially compared to Kuraly who, for a guy almost caught with his pants by his ankles, looks remarkably relaxed. They’re not scared then, not that they should be, Torey’s not exactly an intimidating man. Something about his stature, or maybe his hair, he wasn’t sure. 

“I’m a friend.”

“Of who?” Kuraly lowered his gun slightly.

“Marchand.” And the gun went right back up.

“I don’t think he  _ has  _ any friends outside this ship.” Which,  _ ouch,  _ poor Brad. 

“You mean he hasn’t told you about me? I’m insulted.” 

“You have any weapons?” 

“Mr...Kuraly was it? I am a peaceful man, I only wanted to talk to a dear friend of mine of  _ course  _ I don’t have any weapons.” No, his hands would suffice, fuck the guy for inadvertently getting Torey into this mess. If he wasn’t so good at being a slippery bastard Torey wouldn’t have decided to gift him the drive and he could have been anywhere else but here. 

“He have any weapons?” Kuraly asked his...lover? There’s a slight glint in the guy’s eye as he looks over Torey - cybernetic pupils, definitely a cyborg then.

“No, he’s clean.” 

“What kind of criminal doesn’t carry weapons?”

“The idiotic kind,” Dany said rolling his eyes, “Let’s get him to Z and Bergy, it’s not like we can just leave him here.”

“Actually you could do that, I think that’s a great idea.” But his protests fell on deaf ears. Kuraly kept his phaser calmly trained on his face as Dany moved to cuff him. He didn’t resist, what was the point. He was  _ fairly _ sure they wouldn’t kill him, and even on the off chance they did, he’s also fairly sure it wouldn’t be that painful.

Kuraly activates his comm and Dany pushes Torey forward and onwards out the cargo hold. It crackled with static for a second before a clear voice comes through.

“You know this channel is for serious issues Sean,” Someone says, voice much softer than Torey was expecting, not Brad or Bergeron and most likely not Chara either. 

“This is a serious issue, me and Danton fou-”

“Oh,” A different person speaks, the brunette from earlier, Gryz, “You and  _ Danton _ ?”

“We found someone in the cargo bay.” There’s quiet on the line.

“Like...a person?” Gryz says, disbelieving.

“For fucks sake,  _ yes _ a person, we’re bringing him up to the main lounge now, get Bergy and Z to meet us there.” 

“Will do.” The soft voice says again, not quite overshadowing another ‘ _ an actual person’  _ in the background. The comm feed cuts of there, and although Kuraly lets out a loud sigh and mumbles an impressive string of curses, the rest of the walk to the lounge is done in silence. 

What they’re met with, once they get there, is a smaller group of people than Torey expected. What isn’t small however, is the giant of a man standing in the centre of the room, arms folded a stern look on his face. 

He can only be Chara, once renowned as one of the Federations best (and tallest) Diplomatic Ship Captains. The holovids and history books had not done him justice. He towered over Torey, like some sort of sentient tree. 

Frankly, Torey wishes he were anywhere else but here. It’s not the first time he’d thought that today. 

 

 

They get him situated on a wooden stool in the middle of the lounge. It’s fairly roomy, clean too, although a bit scruffy and old, the ship had definitely been well used. They hadn’t uncuffed him, although Brad hadn’t spent the  _ entire  _ time laughing in his face as he had dragged the stool from a table in the corner, so that was something. 

Chara then turned to the two blonds who had discovered him. 

“Well done on catching this man, but why were you even in the hold?”

The guys flush red, and from inside what Torey presumes is the entrance to the cockpit, someone snorts at the question. Both men flush even darker red. 

“We were on our way to the bunks when we heard a noise,” Kuraly just straight up bullshitted

“A noise?” The giant sounded incredulous, Torey didn’t blame him. The excuse had the same energy as the story a toddler tells their parents after they’d eaten all the cookies in the jar. 

“Yeah,” Dany nods, “We heard footsteps and thudding, we thought we’d go see if there were any…” 

He floundered for a second. Torey could practically see the cogs turning in his brain.

“Any rats.” Kuraly finished for him, wincing even as he said it, “We thought that the noise might mean some rats.”

“Rats,” Chara echoed. 

“It’s not important why they were down there,” Bergeron interrupted in an attempt to keep things moving, “He’s more important at the moment.”

“He said he knew Marchy,” Kuraly offered. Bergeron and Chara both turned to Brad, who only looked a little pissed off. A charming grin slid across his face as he raised his palms in surrender at their questioning glares.

“Calm down, I can explain.”

“Who is he?”

“His names Krug, he’s an old buddy of mine I met a few years back. He’s uh, a mercenary, but he’s a good guy at heart I swear.” Brad winked at him from over Bergeron’s shoulder, before focusing back on the two men, a more serious look on his face, “I don’t know why he’s here though.”

“I’m sure he will tell-” Chara was cut short by Bergeron.

“How do you know him?” Oh dear, Torey shrunk down into his seat, he could already tell this wasn’t going to end well. Especially if Brad did his usual trick of forgoing reason in favor of being a massive ass.

“What?” 

“How do you know him?”

“I really don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“He’s a mercenary, we need to know all we can  if we are going to trust him not to betray us or something.”

“So what if he’s a mercenary? I’m a thief and you trusted me not to sell you out straight away.” 

“That’s different,” Bergeron looks to be regretting ever saying anything, and with good reason, he probably knew better than anyone what an angry Brad Marchand was like. That is to say; relentless and insufferable, “I know you, I do-”

“You know me? You’re going to go with that one huh? You don’t know shit about me anymore so don’t even try to use that excuse.”

“Enough.” Chara cut through the bickering, a long-suffering look on his face, “Brad please stop arguing with Patrice, he was just trying,”

“Oh it’s my fault?”

“Brad don’t be unreasonable

“I’m not being unreasonable.”

“Yes you are and you’re acting like a child on top of that. Calm down.” 

Brad glares angrily at Chara for a second, rigid were he leaned against a table. Near him, Kuraly looks like he wishes he were maybe a few metres away. Then, without a further word he stomped out the room, down the hall that Torey and the two blondes had come from. 

“Touchy.” Heinen muttered. Bergeron rested his head in his hands. 

“I’ll go talk to him,”

“Patrice…” 

“Someone needs to do it Z, maybe if I apologise he’ll calm down. Not,” He remarked as moved to follow Brad down the hall, “That he  _ deserves _ an apology but still.”

“Sorry about that,” Torey said breaking the silence, “Brad can get a little crispy at time,”

“Yes,” Chara said wryly, “We’ve noticed. Still, he’s good at what he does.”

“Stealing things? I mean yeah but why do you need that? You’re a defector group, not a space mob.”

“Stealing isn’t his only talent, just his main one.”

“You got me there.” 

“What are we going to do with him?” Danton asked, “I mean, he’s Brad’s friend so I don’t imagine he’ll rat us out when we could do the same to him.”

“We’ll put him in one of the empty bunk rooms, take his cuffs off and lock the door. We’ll try and get more out of him later when Bergy’s calmed Brad down.” 

Without further acknowledgement, Chara swept out the room. Once again Danton took a hold of his arms, pushing him back the way they’d came. The pass a closed door and there’s the faint sound of shouting through it. Calm Brad down indeed.

The two blonds deposit him in an almost bare bunk room, devoid of any personal effects and covered in a thick layer of dust. The handcuffs are released with the press of Kuraly’s finger to a sensor pad, and he stretches his wrists gratefully. He hadn’t been in the cuffs long, but damn had they chafed. 

They start to exit, but in the doorway Kuraly turned back, “You hungry mate?”

Now that he mentioned it, yeah, Torey was starved. The last thing he’d eaten had been lunch the day before, a limp pastry from a shady looking vendor. It hadn’t tasted very good, but hadn’t cost more than a few credits. He nodded. 

“Alright, we’ll see what we can do.” 

They leave him there for what must be at least an hour, no handcuffs, but the door was locked and soundly. So, like any good mercenary would do in such a situation, he flopped face first on one of the bunks and sulked. 

Eventually the doors opened with a pneumatic whoosh. Torey refused to look at whoever it is. The person didn’t say anything, and didn’t advance any further into the room. Torey still didn’t look. They guy also didn’t do anything. 

A stalemate it was. 

“Are you just going to continue suffocating yourself in that pillow or do you want something to eat?” It’s the dude from the comms, the one with the soft voice. 

To be honest, he’d have been perfectly content with the first option, but the last time he ate was at least yesterday, and he’s more hungry than he’d like to admit. 

He folds after a few more seconds, and peers up at the guy in the doorway. He’s holding a thin silver packet of Federation Rations and a cup of water. He wasn’t amongst the few crew members that had gathered in the ship lobby with him earlier. 

“That for me?” He was starved, if they’d just tossed a chicken at him he’d probably have eaten the whole thing, feathers and all.

“Yeah,” Pilot man - What had the guy called him...Alley? Acciari? He wasn’t quite sure -  nodded, tossing the packet to him along with a plastic fork, “Hope you like crunchy rice, we nuked it as best we could but the Federation has a vendetta against giving its employees edible food.”

Torey grinned, sitting up and scanning the label of the ration pack. 

_ ‘Green Thai Curry with Rice’ _

“I’d eat the rice raw at this point,” He remarked, ripping the packet open with his teeth, spitting the top to the floor. He shoveled in a too large mouthful. The rice crunched audibly against his teeth. Not the best food he’d ever had, he’d admit, but it would do. 

The Pilot hadn’t moved, just continued to lean casually against the doorway watching. Uncomfortable, he stuffed another mountain of food into his mouth.

“It’s rude to stare.” He said, a couple of curry coated rice grains falling onto his shirt.

“It’s rude to eat with your mouth open.” 

“...Fair.” There’s quiet again for a minute or so as Torey wolfs down the rations.

“So...” 

“So?” Torey repeated.

“I bet Gryz 50 credits and tonight's pudding cup that Sean and Dany were making out in the hold when they found you.”

“Oh.” Torey stopped eating for a second to process this information, “What did uh...Gryz bet?”

“50 Credits, tonight's pudding cup  _ and  _ he has to fix my communicator pro bono.” 

“You can’t fix the comm by yourself?” 

“I’m a pilot, the only technology I’m good with is the stuff that gets me off the ground. Gryz was on the engineering and mechanics track in the Academy, passed top of his class.” There’s something like pride in the Pilots tone. 

“If tell you, would you answer a few questions for me? Nothing treasonous I promise,” The guy looks consideringly at him, but nods soon enough.

“Sure, go on, what do you want to know?”

“Do they always fight like that?” Pilot guy cracks a smile at the question, huffing as he shakes his head.

“Not like that, they argue a lot usually, small things you know. Brad not listening to Bergy, Bergy not taking Brad seriously enough, kind of like an old married couple.”

“An old married couple on the brink of a divorce maybe.”

“Fair enough,” The guy amends, “They were getting better though, the last time they argued before this was three days ago, we were all kind of expecting it to be honest.”

“Huh.” Torey set down his empty ration packet on a chair by the desk and rolls over onto his back, “Will wonders never cease.” 

The ceiling above him is grey and scratched up, there’s a heart carved into it with DK hearts ML 4 ever underneath. Maybe-Acciari still doesn’t leave, and Torey’s about to ask why he was still there when he remembered his side of the deal.

“Oh yeah, good news for your comm, they were practically tearing each others clothes off when I revealed myself.”

“I fucking knew it!” And now he leaves, yelling down the corridor - ‘ _ Gryz you non-believer, time to pay the fuck up _ ’. Torey grinned to himself, at least someone had come out of that unfortunate situation better off than they started. And to be fair, so was he, alone sure, but uncuffed with a not uncomfortable bed and a mostly edible meal in his belly. 

None of this however, is very good at fending off the boredom. There’s nothing to do in the room except sit and stare at the walls. It doesn’t take very long for him to start wishing he was still in the cargo hold, at least there he could have snooped around somewhat. 

Eventually, sometime much later after one nap and several time pacing around the room, they come and drag him out the bunk, and by they, he means Marchy.

Brad looked surprisingly cheerful for someone who had been in a very spiteful argument not too long prior, burst in, handcuff key gripped in his fingers. He didn’t say anything as he unlocked the cuffs and dragged Torey up off the bunk. This struck him as odd, but he couldn’t complain, usually Brad didn’t know how to shut up at all.

Brad leads them the opposite direction from the way he was brought in, towards to rear of the ship rather than the front. Along this long corridor, through a set of sliding doors and along more hallways before they reach what must be the end of ship. Underneath them, or so Torey suspects, must be the cargo bay, and he wonders what the hell Brad’s plan is here.

Take him somewhere private and murder him for causing him and Bergeron to have a little domestic. That had hardly been his fault, but he’s sure somehow Brad could twist the situation so that it was.

“You look like someone kicked your puppy,” Brad said as he pressed his thumb to the detector on the wall next to the door, “I couldn’t bear watching you pace that room one more time you were driving me nuts.”

“So you’re...what?”

“Taking you for walkies, and also Z wants to know why the fuck you snealed on here for.”

“Ah,” The interrogation earlier of course, hadn’t ended in anything more than Torey’s semi-freedom and a lot of tension, and not the fun kind. 

“And you’re allowed to just take me out my prison room, just like that?”

“It was hardly a prision,” He paused, “And I do what I want.”

The door opens to a cupboard of a room,empty of anything save a bit of dust and the light.  A reinforced glass window made up the entirety of one wall, and from it they could see the empty sector of space. Not planets, no stars or asteroids, just endless blackness. The observation deck for a little while, if it could even be called that. 

“Not the prettiest of sites,” He commented, sitting down with the force of a sack of bricks. Brad followed him down, only slightly more graceful in doing so.

“The neutral zone always is, no planets or space stations to fight over here.”

“I’m sure there’s someone out there who’d want to control it. Supreme Leader of the Blackest Boringest bit of Space and all that.”

There was an awkward lull in the conversation, which Torey used to contemplate just how likely Brad was to gut him if he brought up the elephant in the room. The very large, Bergeron shaped elephant. He figured he had at least a 50% chance of surviving unscathed, and anyway, he had the height advantage over the other man if it came to fisticuffs.

“You know,” he said, reaching his foot out to lightly nudge Brad’s leg, “The last time I saw you you were cursing Bergeron's name and all that he stood for after the Federation gave him that award.”

“Fuck off Krug.”

“Someone's bitter.”

“I’m not bitter.” Brad said defensively.

“You were definitely bitter in that bar when you were detailing exactly where you’d stuff that silver trophy of his. And that argument up there definitely didn’t seem friendly either."

“I don’t disagree with anything I said, he’s fucking won the Selke more times than I can remember. Exemplary Defense of Federation Territory my ass. Who even wants a piece of silver shaped like a bowl with a fucking crown on it,”

“Oh yeah,” Torey raised one eyebrow, “definitely not bitter.”

“That was a long time ago, I’m over it.”

“Literally less than a year ago.”

“A lot has changed since then, I mean look at me!”

“Yeah, you got uglier. Man, was your barber blind?” Brad punched Torey in the shoulder at the at the shot, but there was something like a grin on his face and it hadn’t hurt too badly. He’s glad, for all the shit he’d given Brad, the guy was the closest thing he had to a best friend, half a year with no contact aside. 

When they’d first met, four years ago, Torey had been a small time criminal, struggling to make a living. He’d grown up on some out the way planet in the middle of the outer ring, and when he’d tried to join the Federation in an attempt to get the fuck out of there, they’d told him he wasn’t quite good enough and declined his application. He tried not to think about it too much, dismay had settled in his bones and he can still feel the bile in his throat at the memory, even almost a decade later. Everyone on Michigan knew there were only three possible futures for people born on the planet, stay and rot, join the Federation and leave or find some bastard crazy enough to let you hitch a ride to wherever was furthest away.

It had just so happened the ship he’d jumped onto, three years after his application had been denied, belonged to one Mister Ference. Known in the underground circuits as one of the best hitmen in the galaxy, if not many others. At least he had been until he’d been killed three months later trying to smuggle diamonds onto the  _ Calgary.  _ Then Torey had stolen the ship, the crew and most importantly the diamonds to jump start his new found career in criminal activity. 

Brad he’d met some months after, and the guy had been a mess. Truly. Slumped over the bar in one of Torey’s off the radar speakeasy’s in the gutter of the Galaxy - the  _ Detroit  _ \- two sheets to the wind and slurring over some guy. There had been at least 12 empty glasses scattered on the bar top next to him, another full one his hand and at least a pint down his shirt. He’d seen better days, that had been for sure, although Torey hadn’t been that much better. Battered from his latest failure of a mission, where the client had gotten cold feet, pulled the contract and snitched on him to the Federation. Bastard hadn’t even the kindness to leave him the credits. 

And now here they were, four years later, still criminals, just less of a hot mess. 

“My hairs not that bad,” Brad said , leaning back on his palms and gazing through the space window, “I just meant the situation had changed is all.”

“Has it? Seems like you’re still not over whatever the hell you two had back then.”

“I’m over it, he’s the one who keeps pressing things and saying shit like that!” Brad would never admit it, but there was something like a full blown pout on his face now. Such a fucking child. 

“I’m not saying you deserved it...”

“Well fucking thank you Torey-”

“ _ But _ , you did provoke him into it. Seemed pretty personal some of the things you were saying there. I know you were pissed at him over  _ something _ , but I didn’t think you actually, you know, hated him.” 

“I don’t,” Brad deflated like a very sad balloon, “It’s been a long few months, hell, a long few  _ years,  _ I’m just a little messed up right now.”

“You’re telling me, from thieving to shacking up in a nice ship with a bunch of kids and a giant. What’s up with that anyway?”

Brad snorted and shook his head in disbelief. 

“Chara? Or the kids?”

“Both, either.”

“Bergy and Z are putting together a crew, they’re trying to find some artefact that’ll bring down the whole federation or some shit, they haven’t told me much to be honest.”

“An artefact?” Torey didn’t even try to keep the scepticism out his voice.

“I don’t get it either man, but it’s Bergy and Z, as much as it pains me to say, they’re solid as all hell. And anyway, I’m not one to pass up a chance to give the big ol’ fuck you to the Feds you know.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s actually,” He paused, thinking over his options before continuing, “Actually why I came here, to talk to you.”

In an instant Brad’s posture went from loose and somewhat relaxed to as tense as a bowstring, intelligent eyes fixating on Torey, but he made no move towards him, and stayed quiet. 

“On my last job I found something on the body of one the guys that was uh, in the wrong place at the wrong time,” He tucked his hand into the inner pocket of his jacket and withdrew the small chip, “It’s a holo drive and I thought maybe it’d have some like, kinky alien porn on it or some shit.”

“Are you serious?” Marchy slumped back, all tension draining from his shoulders, “You smuggled yourself onto the ship so you can show me some alien porn? You kinky bastard you.”

“Yeah, not quite. It’s not alien porn, it’s  much worse.”

 

 

Once Torey had actually explained what he meant by 'much worse', Brad dragged him back to the main lobby, calling the rest of the crew there too. There’s eight of them in total. The giant - Chara - and Bergeron were clearly the leaders, with Brad also seeming like some sort of leader. Kuraly and the Pilot are stood by the cockpit entrance, Heinen and two other young men are sat on various surfaces around the room.

Torey, even standing next to Brad, felt like a very small, very delicate mouse when stood in front of the Captain. The guy was huge. He offered up the chip to the giant with a hopeful smile on his face.

“What is it?” Chara asked as he took it between two fingers.

“Uh...a data chip.” 

“No shit. What is on it?”

“Ah, well, it’s hard to explain.”

“Why?” The Captain raised one unruly eyebrow and Torey had never been so fearful of a stern expression since the last time he’d seen his mother. 

“It’s better to just watch it,” The eyebrow rose higher, “Promise it’s not kinky alien porn.”

“Aaaalright then,” Bergeron interjected, “I’m sure it’s fine Z, Marchy vou-”

“Brad.”

“What?” Bergeron’s head span so fast to face Marchy that Torey was surprised he didn’t get whiplash.

“Brad. Not Marchy.” Brads voice was cold, a complete 180 from his tone when talking to Torey. Clearly his and Bergeron's little talk earlier hadn't gone very well. The Captain frowned at them both, and some of the younger guys looked uneasy. 

“Right,” Bergeron continued, a little quieter this time, “Brad vouched for him, I’m sure he’s not fucking us around.” 

Chara contemplated this for a bit, looking both Torey and Brad up and down thoroughly before giving a sharp nod. 

“Tuuks,” He said, addressing the room, “Can you play this?”

The lighting in the room went from fluorescent white to a deep gold, and even in his confusion Torey wondered which of the young guys was ‘Tuuks’, None of them responded however. It wasn’t until a disembodied voice interrupted his inner thoughts, that he got it.

“ _Can I play this?_ Can I play this? _Of course I can play it, it’s a holochip not a vhs tape._ ” The voice was unlike the one of the generic Federation AI, sharper and with a vague accent. 

“I didn’t mean it lik-”

“ _Just give me the chip._ ” Torey appreciated the snappy response but failed to see how an AI could be handed something. Was it also an android? Did it just like to personify himself?

As if to answer his question, a small clicking noise preceded a small hatch in one of the walls retracting. From within came a small metal rod with two pincers (were they meant to be fingers? Torey had not idea). It stuttered to a stop. 

That wasn’t something he’d seen before. 

Chara placed the chip between the two pincers, letting go when he was sure the robot, arm, rod thing had it firmly. With a mechanical whir the arm disappeared back into the hatch, the doors closing with a loud click. 

The overhead lights changed from the gold to red back to gold again, before turning off completely as a blue tinted hologram was projected into the middle of the room. Torey and Brad, only inches away, took several steps back.

The hologram showed a tall presumably greying man, dressed in the stern grey uniform of the Federation Brass. He’s not wearing any identifying marks, although on the breastplate of his jacket was the Vice-Admiral insignia. Top Brass indeed. 

“Is it just a picture?” Bergeron asked, transfixed by the still image.

“ _It’s a video_ ,” The AI said, “ _I’ll play it shall I?_ ”

Without waiting for an answer, the AI started to play the Holovid. 

 

_ \- The man shifts uncomfortably in his chair, gaze sweeping over the papers in front of him, picking one up only to put it down again. There’s quiet as he does this, only the quiet rustle of papers. Eventually he clears his throat and looks up. _

 

_ ‘The plan is all in place then?” His voice is deep, but gritty and hard.  _

 

_ ‘Yes Vice- Admiral, Rear-Admiral Hansen has commanded the entire CW Fleet to the neutral zone.’ There’s another voice, a woman this time, but just as harsh and cold. _

 

_ ‘And they are all there?’ _

 

_ ‘Yes Sir, we have made sure of it.’ _

 

_ ‘And Project Johnston?’ _

 

_ ‘Primed and ready to go at your word Sir’ _

 

_ ‘Excellent, Commodore Reed you have been of great service, we’ll see about that promotion once this whole situation is over.’ _

 

_ ‘Thank you Sir,’ _

 

_ ‘Now go, expect the signal within the next week.’ _

 

_ ‘Yes Sir.” The woman must salute, as the man gives a slight tilt of his hat to the empty air. - _

 

The holovid cuts off there, the blue image of the man frozen in mid air as the light slowly turn back on again. Everyone collectively lets out a slow breath.

“The fuck was that?” The Pilot is the first to speak, a slight frown down turning his mouth. Bergeron seems too stunned to talk, and just blinks at the holo for a few seconds. Brad is the first one to find his tongue, unsurprisingly.

“They were talking about the missing CW fleet.” He stated, “The fleet was  _ ordered  _ to go to the neutral zone, they didn’t just go there by themselves.”

“I don’t understand.” Bergeron still seemed shellshocked, as though the implications of the holovid hadn’t quite sunk in yet.

“I think it’s quite clear,” the AI said, “The CW fleet were ordered to the Neutral Zone, where no Federation Ship should be going, very soon before they disappeared. That’s not a coincidence.”

“The disappearance of that fleet was a freak accident, the official repor-” Chara stepped in.

“Come on Cap,” It’s Kuraly who spoke next, an ugly expression on his face, “The whole reason we’re all here is because none of us trust the Federation, it’s not much of a stretch to believe they had something to do with it.”

“There’s a difference between leaving the Federation because we don’t like it’s principles and straight up accusing them of vanishing a whole fleet.”

“I’d believe it.” The Pilot said grimly, “And what the hell is this Project Johnston? Sounds pretty fucking sketchy.”

“That’s an understatement and a half,” Kuraly muttered from next to him.

“We can’t jump to conclusions,” Chara said, kind but firm, “This isn’t the kind of thing we deal with.”

“Are you kidding?” Incredulous, Brad took a step forward, “This is the biggest piece of evidence that the Federation is at least  _ connected _ to the disappearance of the CW fleet I’ve ever seen, we can’t just toss it to the side.”

“I’m not saying we do that, but we’re one ship of criminals and defectors, we can’t do anything.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Brad was still aggressive in his stance, but there was curiosity there too.

“I think,” Chara turned to Bergeron with a bleak smile, “It’s time to head to the  _ Boston _ .”

Torey frowned. The  _ Boston _ was of course one of the most notorious Battlecruisers in the galaxy, courtesy of its status as the first turncoat from the Federation. He failed however, to see what it had to do with this rag-tag group of people.

“What’s at the  _ Boston _ ?” He asked.

“Someone we’ve been waiting to meet ever since we defected.” Bergeron said, nodding to Chara as the Captain swiftly exited the room without another word.

“Oh shit.” One of the younger guys said, sitting up straighter, “It’s not?”

“Set a course for the Pacific Quadrant Noel,” He said to the Pilot, “It’s time to go talk to Bruce Cassidy.”  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Well if you read through all that then thank you! 
> 
> I was going to make some of the bruins aliens, but then i realized that would involve actual like, worldbuilding, so i didn’t. Once again - sue me.
> 
> Is it just me that is always surprised when Acciari speaks? For someone who likes to bulldoze people like he does on the ice he sure does have a soft voice. It’s nice to listen to actually. 
> 
> I’m sorry Detroit, I just googled worst city in the US, clicked the first article and that was the answer
> 
> Cheers!


End file.
